“I must say I’d rather eat those than your cooking.”

“So funny,” I lament as he chuckles, the sound as warm as his personality. “Why are you here, again?” I ask him. “Is it the cake too?”

He shudders and pats his stomach. “I’d be the size of a house if I lived with Charlie. How are you going to cope?”

“Add another gym session and a run.” I take another bite of cake. “It’s totally worth it,” I say with my mouth full.

“You going out?” he asks. “That’s your pulling gear.”

“I’m meeting someone for a fuck. It’s pretty much a sure thing.” I shrug. “I could wear my pyjamas, and I’d still get laid.”

He shakes his head. “When does confidence become arrogance?” he wonders out loud.

I smirk at him. Time to give some shit back. “But enough about my attributes, Rupert. We haven’t got long enough to discuss those. Let’s address instead why you’re here.” I tap my finger against my chin. “You’re here to pick Charlie’s brains about love matters.”

He squirms. “Don’t call it that,” he whispers.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?”

Rupert has been mad about Bethany, Charlie’s friend, since he met her when we all went to a club a few years ago.

He shrugs. “She’d never be interested in me. I just like to hear about her, and Charlie’s always so encouraging about getting us together. Even though it’s useless.”

I can’t help but agree with Rupert. The two couldn’t be more ill-suited. Bethany is feisty and forceful, and Rupert isn’t. He’s kind and steady. But Charlie still believes they’d suit and does his best to matchmake, usually with terrible results. Like the time he invited them both to dinner at his old flat. He made seafood paella which was disastrous, as Rupert is allergic to shellfish and far too polite to ever say anything. The night had ended rather abruptly when he threw up on Bethany’s shoes. I shudder at the thought. I make it a principle to stay completely out of any matchmaking schemes, but Charlie remains hopeful.

“He’s very encouraging, but he’s a worse matchmaker than the chap who thought it would be great for Bluebeard to settle down,” I warn Rupert. “Just look at the blokes he picks for himself. There have been more than a few prats.”

“Maybe he’s just not found the right one yet,” Rupert says comfortably, taking a bite of his cake.